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crocodilemuikkumulesmummymyDetournestsnichesnougatoceanoctopusoil wrestlingornamentaloysterspackagingpagodaspalacepalmeraiepanoramapapasparadespartypastéis de bacalhaupatatje oorlogphởpidepistachio fieldsplan bpo chapolicepoliticspositivitypostage stampsprayerpregnancyprintsprocessionqueen of heartsrakijaraptorsrecipereindeer meatrevengerice paddiesrice puddingrissóis de camarãorissóis de leitãorock etchingsrock formationsrustsafarisalt lakescience illustrationshapesshopkeepersshort storyshrinesingerssketchersskullskylineslumssnailssnowstormsocial network bansociety6songssouqsspasstoempstone cutterstone workstray dogstreet performancesstuffed musselssunflowerssunrisesupermarketsweatersynagoguestablecloth sketchestajinestaxitepsi kebaptesti kebabıthangkathe benevolent postcard societythird Bosphorus bridgetigertoasttouriststraditional clothingtraditionstrapezetridtripetrucksustavegetablesvintagevolunteeringwadiwaffleswienerschnitzelwinwin a sketchwriting letterswurstxiripitiyabancıyogaÇaldıranÇanakpınarÇarşıbaşıÇemberlitaş HamamıÇırağan PalaceÇırağan SarayıÜç Şerefeli CamiiçaybahceharikaThe adventures of a compulsive sketcher in Istanbul.http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/noreply@blogger.com (szaza)Blogger1450125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-6992244535219466275Sun, 17 Sep 2017 07:28:00 +00002017-09-17T08:30:43.553+01:00artworkdrawingpregnancypart one: belly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ZXrg63q52Y/Wb3AU2SBKDI/AAAAAAAAbu4/AunloFSB9ao7E_ShPIIUIv14jwCSkbU8QCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0ZXrg63q52Y/Wb3AU2SBKDI/AAAAAAAAbu4/AunloFSB9ao7E_ShPIIUIv14jwCSkbU8QCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly001.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3mDB0Hmf2hY/Wb3AUqZZtGI/AAAAAAAAbu0/rN0uQNSmtksRNKRM4sv4bhci3sNc_b0ygCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly003.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3mDB0Hmf2hY/Wb3AUqZZtGI/AAAAAAAAbu0/rN0uQNSmtksRNKRM4sv4bhci3sNc_b0ygCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly003.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-itRxBDAKPOk/Wb3AWDpT_MI/AAAAAAAAbvA/i999_i9G44kgRbpQgidRV6YL4tgvQdnlQCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly004.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-itRxBDAKPOk/Wb3AWDpT_MI/AAAAAAAAbvA/i999_i9G44kgRbpQgidRV6YL4tgvQdnlQCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly004.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tprty9z6FtE/Wb4hxYEE1QI/AAAAAAAAbvQ/3SoVNE2E76wfw-SJ-hqYZ__IufgkiIRUACLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly005.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Tprty9z6FtE/Wb4hxYEE1QI/AAAAAAAAbvQ/3SoVNE2E76wfw-SJ-hqYZ__IufgkiIRUACLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-belly005.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I thought I'd share with you some of the drawings I drew during the last few months. Stay tuned—more on the way...</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/09/part-one-belly.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-6532958631632726434Sat, 16 Sep 2017 15:37:00 +00002017-09-16T22:28:29.647+01:00AmazighBilmawnBoujloudHigh Atlas MountainsImlilMoroccotraditionsthe bilmawn<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K_P9dwPA-zQ/Wb1Ap9ypCWI/AAAAAAAAbt4/YdH4Iie1uxoQ2-huR1kBUhPllFjQ4pKkQCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-bilmawn.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="469" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K_P9dwPA-zQ/Wb1Ap9ypCWI/AAAAAAAAbt4/YdH4Iie1uxoQ2-huR1kBUhPllFjQ4pKkQCLcBGAs/s1600/szaza-bilmawn.jpg" /></a><br /><br />We spent Eid al-Adha in Imlil last year, where an old Amazigh tradition still carries on during the days following the Eid. Thunderous drumming echoes through the valleys of the Atlas, and high on a hill one morning, we spied a group of young men dressed in various masks (and some fake beards) preparing to rampage through the village below, led by a fellow dressed in goat skins. This is what I was hoping to find on our trip, the mysterious <i>Bilmawn</i>.<br /><br />The <i>Bilmawn</i> (or <i>Boujloud</i>) appears to be something out of Pagan times, something ancient— not unlike the <i>Krampus</i> or Portugal's <i>Caretos</i>, who chase young women through the streets whilst wielding sticks and cow bells. With twisting horns and dark human eyes peering through the eye-holes of a flattened goat's head, the animal smell still strong on the fur, the <i>Bilmawn</i> thrills and terrorizes young children by chasing them with a stick, collecting the discarded skins of the sheep sacrificed during the Eid. I have read that the <i>Bilmawn</i> and his cohort also collect alms for the local mosque, though I wasn't able to get much information on the tradition whenever I asked about it, and people seemed genuinely amused that I would even want to know.<br /><br />Hoping to grab a sketch with this wild character, we approached him with our clumsy French. The <i>Bilmawn</i>, who either did not understand us or was so into his role, stared at us blankly through puffs of smoke from his cigarette, which dangled grotesquely out from under his goat face. One of his companions, wearing shades and a powdered face with a fake beard haphazardly glued to his chin, did understand. Of course we could sketch and photograph everyone, but we needed to offer a donation. Normally I would balk over paying to draw, but this was such a great opportunity and one that might not come my way in some time, so I placed a few dirhams into his powdered palm. The goat man extinguished his cigarette, and struck a pose.<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2YE_tvaqkiE/Wb1DdEYl6dI/AAAAAAAAbuE/InIwjq1mlMw4AYcZ7N3GUy17rMQWVQD5wCLcBGAs/s1600/bilmawn01.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2YE_tvaqkiE/Wb1DdEYl6dI/AAAAAAAAbuE/InIwjq1mlMw4AYcZ7N3GUy17rMQWVQD5wCLcBGAs/s1600/bilmawn01.jpg" /></a><br /><br />As we drove off down the hill, I looked up to where we had met the bizarre cast of characters and watched them begin their descent into the village. The pounding of drums echoed as I imagined a group of children scurrying away in that wonderful mix of delight and fright.<br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCrUrLsiUKo/Wb1FNcQhLWI/AAAAAAAAbuU/dk8jnjaCSDwmJupms1jeA0vr9hnhDx9cACLcBGAs/s1600/bilmawn02.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tCrUrLsiUKo/Wb1FNcQhLWI/AAAAAAAAbuU/dk8jnjaCSDwmJupms1jeA0vr9hnhDx9cACLcBGAs/s1600/bilmawn02.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/09/the-bilmawn.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-5130912168061983474Sat, 02 Sep 2017 23:17:00 +00002017-09-03T00:17:27.670+01:00Eid al-AdhaMoroccoRabateid mubarak<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f3RgHeOoMPo/Was7p0g_dGI/AAAAAAAAbnY/VTggAECtvKEDwwbp_IIzViKnl1nJq-tewCLcBGAs/s1600/eid-al-adha01.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f3RgHeOoMPo/Was7p0g_dGI/AAAAAAAAbnY/VTggAECtvKEDwwbp_IIzViKnl1nJq-tewCLcBGAs/s1600/eid-al-adha01.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Friday was Eid al-Adha, one of the most important holy days for Muslim Moroccans. It is the feast of sacrifice, when families get together and slaughter a sheep in honour of Ibrahim (or Abraham) and his test of faith. When I was in Istanbul, I would occasionally see the sheep and sometimes cattle being taken outside the city where makeshift abbatoirs were set up for the holiday. Sheep would be carried on the backs of trucks and in car trunks, looking rather bewildered to say the least. I have a vivid memory of the gutters running red with blood in Cairo, the scent of animal and iron in the hot air, the rusty handprints of the devout dripping on the walls of houses.<br /><br />Here in Rabat, the musty smell of livestock permeates the air a few days before the Eid, and the bleating of sheep echoes from basements and rooftops alike. Our neighbours had four on their roof, and though I am a meat eater and respect that people have their traditions and beliefs, I must admit that I felt unsettled by the sight of those sheep on that roof. A roof, like a basement, is no place for an animal, and I knew that within a couple of hours, their lives would end on that roof. The only comfort was that they would be eaten and appreciated by families who came together in celebration, the meat shared with neighbours, friends, and the less fortunate— there would be little waste. A far better fate than for those poor creatures of feedlots and mass manufacturing in the West.<br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JMnUBVlTqUI/Was74uWKYKI/AAAAAAAAbnc/EW0MFUYJbCEmXTXDyDrWmWQlHBb4xw7EACLcBGAs/s1600/eid-al-adha02.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JMnUBVlTqUI/Was74uWKYKI/AAAAAAAAbnc/EW0MFUYJbCEmXTXDyDrWmWQlHBb4xw7EACLcBGAs/s1600/eid-al-adha02.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Many of my students love this Eid— they tell me it's like Christmas, and look forward to spending precious time with their loved ones. Some admit that they feel bad for the sheep, but value the holiday, and their beliefs. A friend of mine in Turkey once divulged her childhood Eid memories (Eid al-Adha is called Kurban Bayram in Turkish), which typically involved her mother calling over the girls to help her wash out the entrails for making sausages. The smell haunted her into adulthood, but it was a happy and cherished time that she spent with her mother, sisters, and aunts. It reminds me of Thanksgiving with my mother— only far removed from the killing and processing of the turkey (though there was that one time my mum had to pluck one of the birds).<br /><br />So <i>Eid Mubarak</i> to my Muslim friends! I hope you are having a wonderful time with your loved ones, and wish you many more dear memories with them.</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/09/eid-mubarak.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-7970804731205930182Fri, 01 Sep 2017 18:13:00 +00002017-09-01T19:25:01.285+01:00desertErg ChebbiMerzougaMoroccoSaharalines in the sand<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fw72bCBzbl8/WamgGCECElI/AAAAAAAAbmI/5g2jyA5Ryk0Btn0Uqb7718e04d41C596gCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi012.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fw72bCBzbl8/WamgGCECElI/AAAAAAAAbmI/5g2jyA5Ryk0Btn0Uqb7718e04d41C596gCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi012.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAfqGZTjHG4/WamgPqqXfEI/AAAAAAAAbmQ/icZgd69utmIsxLLgUc0HynrAArEv0-8TwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi014.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FAfqGZTjHG4/WamgPqqXfEI/AAAAAAAAbmQ/icZgd69utmIsxLLgUc0HynrAArEv0-8TwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi014.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CHIsJScj49s/Wami7yDgrwI/AAAAAAAAbm0/jZCaGpqyXVc2SHngyDtaDmWQIzfTMFF3wCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi013-2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CHIsJScj49s/Wami7yDgrwI/AAAAAAAAbm0/jZCaGpqyXVc2SHngyDtaDmWQIzfTMFF3wCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi013-2.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nxdJPS2rgUY/WamgfdHEfUI/AAAAAAAAbmc/AjU3LZoWEwwwOaJKLdSekwvzuhLjN-STQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi017.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nxdJPS2rgUY/WamgfdHEfUI/AAAAAAAAbmc/AjU3LZoWEwwwOaJKLdSekwvzuhLjN-STQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi017.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CXzY8h8pUeg/WamhBDdpKgI/AAAAAAAAbmk/3BI_zF5O_68ANauOOY6RP-gqZcCiI-h3gCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi018.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CXzY8h8pUeg/WamhBDdpKgI/AAAAAAAAbmk/3BI_zF5O_68ANauOOY6RP-gqZcCiI-h3gCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi018.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OqjlediK830/WamloOt8Y2I/AAAAAAAAbnA/rhOwhUpmhVYajr_hsEAr17GvBp_JzFjFwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi019.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OqjlediK830/WamloOt8Y2I/AAAAAAAAbnA/rhOwhUpmhVYajr_hsEAr17GvBp_JzFjFwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi019.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/09/lines-in-sand.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-7633092210121000482Fri, 01 Sep 2017 17:39:00 +00002017-09-01T18:39:39.080+01:00desertErg ChebbiMerzougaMoroccoSaharafrom himalaya to sahara<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k8ipRvs_Aqw/WajrlRrIeRI/AAAAAAAAblw/7OLeXZKXB_Q_VMgCAwc78MIpPiP2T76AACLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi009.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k8ipRvs_Aqw/WajrlRrIeRI/AAAAAAAAblw/7OLeXZKXB_Q_VMgCAwc78MIpPiP2T76AACLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi009.jpg" /></a><br /><br />We woke just before dawn, after a night of drumming under a bright moon. The air was cool and damp, and it seemed like our little camp was home to the only people in the world, and the world was silent, except for the occasional snort of a camel or raven's chuckle. I watched Tsewang follow the edge of a dune in his socks, marvelling at the softness of the orange sand.<br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-awgJSVmgU30/WajrmHTrYjI/AAAAAAAAbl0/AalRQ_E4cTYCiyDki3H9gzvVrD8Yli3NQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi010.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-awgJSVmgU30/WajrmHTrYjI/AAAAAAAAbl0/AalRQ_E4cTYCiyDki3H9gzvVrD8Yli3NQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi010.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WWuNxmJS_LA/WajrmPO0SQI/AAAAAAAAbl4/NTNTX49-O8U6itnrLHNC9eTDmhA5q6sBQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi011.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-WWuNxmJS_LA/WajrmPO0SQI/AAAAAAAAbl4/NTNTX49-O8U6itnrLHNC9eTDmhA5q6sBQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi011.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I wondered what was running through his head, this boy from the Himalaya, sifting the Sahara through his fingers.</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/09/from-himalaya-to-sahara.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-7795501260857295037Sun, 27 Aug 2017 21:43:00 +00002017-08-27T22:43:43.892+01:00camelsdesertErg ChebbiMerzougaMoroccoSaharaorange and pink<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y28l_u8hJXE/WaM4slVQQhI/AAAAAAAAblY/DGRAKez4yjsrM1mi5U9JcJ4I6jzgoiiuwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi005.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Y28l_u8hJXE/WaM4slVQQhI/AAAAAAAAblY/DGRAKez4yjsrM1mi5U9JcJ4I6jzgoiiuwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi005.jpg" /></a><br /><br />How lucky we were to have arrived just before sunset! The sky took turns between pink and purple, while the orange sand blushed. Though every photo I tried to take from the back of my loping camel blurred, you can still get a sense of the colours and the calm.<br /><br />Pedro somehow managed to snap this not-so-blurry photo of me, secretly carrying a lentil-sized Baby within— followed by Tsewang wrapped in a brilliant blue turban.<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qHs24EBQXx0/WaM4u26aJCI/AAAAAAAAblc/YWRQlr-oDMAUudDTTrySj2z6HDMBasKUQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi006.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qHs24EBQXx0/WaM4u26aJCI/AAAAAAAAblc/YWRQlr-oDMAUudDTTrySj2z6HDMBasKUQCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi006.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/orange-and-pink.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-3551624278710537226Sun, 27 Aug 2017 21:13:00 +00002017-08-27T22:14:48.832+01:00camelsdesertErg ChebbiMerzougaMoroccoSaharaerg chebbi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OczqFkaVbvk/WaMzXrdsWtI/AAAAAAAAblE/O60npNEw2t0a3Bc_wfTaaU59jHU7sZxmwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OczqFkaVbvk/WaMzXrdsWtI/AAAAAAAAblE/O60npNEw2t0a3Bc_wfTaaU59jHU7sZxmwCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi001.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The soft orange dunes on the horizon appeared like something out of a dream— a smooth line of colour in a greying landscape that suddenly grew into waves. Here lies the edge of the Sahara: Erg Chebbi, where we were to spend the night.<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4hdd0rNZsWI/WaMzb7VpH7I/AAAAAAAAblI/szlSrRw63LkJvinDV1d37BpJrVgqcK2KgCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi002-2.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4hdd0rNZsWI/WaMzb7VpH7I/AAAAAAAAblI/szlSrRw63LkJvinDV1d37BpJrVgqcK2KgCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi002-2.jpg" /></a><br /><br />First, we needed to find our camels.<br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0MRxHSPagIY/WaMxIyZsDzI/AAAAAAAAbk4/jdeD4gHcDE88BTOkJNKfff5gAgKsivSFgCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi004.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0MRxHSPagIY/WaMxIyZsDzI/AAAAAAAAbk4/jdeD4gHcDE88BTOkJNKfff5gAgKsivSFgCLcBGAs/s1600/ergchebbi004.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/erg-chebbi.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-7591904253705795252Sun, 27 Aug 2017 19:51:00 +00002017-08-27T20:51:59.480+01:00MoroccoOasis of Tafilaltpalmeraieoasis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GvQdCfyDm2w/WaHg7jEUccI/AAAAAAAAbj4/qMoQMm2NklwQayqVgDIQNeVrXTRHc__RQCLcBGAs/s1600/tafilalt01.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GvQdCfyDm2w/WaHg7jEUccI/AAAAAAAAbj4/qMoQMm2NklwQayqVgDIQNeVrXTRHc__RQCLcBGAs/s1600/tafilalt01.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f8NUlUFv23g/WaHjNPjSYMI/AAAAAAAAbkI/eqQ_vbS38N81Qtfk9Gkzf5HArmZ-TUluACLcBGAs/s1600/tafilalt03.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-f8NUlUFv23g/WaHjNPjSYMI/AAAAAAAAbkI/eqQ_vbS38N81Qtfk9Gkzf5HArmZ-TUluACLcBGAs/s1600/tafilalt03.jpg" /></a><br /><br />It came upon us all of a sudden: the Oasis of Tafilalt, Morocco's biggest oasis. Like the spine of a great green serpent, thousands of date palms meandered through the orange earth in curves.<br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UAThFMPs2fs/WaHma9maufI/AAAAAAAAbkU/Z5cHL-Fw-XMV3Q-WVjUcqH9P8heKU03OACLcBGAs/s1600/tafilalt02.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UAThFMPs2fs/WaHma9maufI/AAAAAAAAbkU/Z5cHL-Fw-XMV3Q-WVjUcqH9P8heKU03OACLcBGAs/s1600/tafilalt02.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/oasis.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-2332566289606467580Sun, 13 Aug 2017 09:22:00 +00002017-08-13T10:22:43.254+01:00camelsMoroccoroadtripsuddenly, camels<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QqDHkVNumFE/WZAZZn3bn9I/AAAAAAAAbi4/ZTyKy5xjEmQczgVwmIXIEcM7MENM3LpoQCLcBGAs/s1600/past-zaida01.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-QqDHkVNumFE/WZAZZn3bn9I/AAAAAAAAbi4/ZTyKy5xjEmQczgVwmIXIEcM7MENM3LpoQCLcBGAs/s1600/past-zaida01.jpg" data-original-width="600" data-original-height="450" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kxDtU6kfKMo/WZAaWRKU8KI/AAAAAAAAbjE/MJJryDk3sl8QuwqvLH2ximqHV81zz9e7gCLcBGAs/s1600/past-zaida02-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-kxDtU6kfKMo/WZAaWRKU8KI/AAAAAAAAbjE/MJJryDk3sl8QuwqvLH2ximqHV81zz9e7gCLcBGAs/s1600/past-zaida02-1.jpg" data-original-width="600" data-original-height="450" /></a><br /></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/suddenly-camels.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-5553842225787598194Sat, 12 Aug 2017 12:04:00 +00002017-08-12T13:04:11.444+01:00MoroccoroadtripZaïdathe red earth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g40c5QajnhQ/WY5QLQNPQ0I/AAAAAAAAbh4/W5OfOvoiVPUPSxwRmpuTLGcTV3N92P1_wCLcBGAs/s1600/zaida001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g40c5QajnhQ/WY5QLQNPQ0I/AAAAAAAAbh4/W5OfOvoiVPUPSxwRmpuTLGcTV3N92P1_wCLcBGAs/s1600/zaida001.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WyL395jYTN4/WY7oVkzZaFI/AAAAAAAAbiM/gOlP8SXa6MgBOKApIUZ2e-LEETRVwMlxQCLcBGAs/s1600/zaida002.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WyL395jYTN4/WY7oVkzZaFI/AAAAAAAAbiM/gOlP8SXa6MgBOKApIUZ2e-LEETRVwMlxQCLcBGAs/s1600/zaida002.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The drive from Rabat to the nearest Saharan dunes in Merzouga is about eight and a half hours— if there aren't any slow trucks, accidents, or anything else that can pop up unexpectedly. Moroccan highways are smooth and quick, but the winding roads through the Middle Atlas can take quite some time, and it's always best to expect to add a minimum of two extra hours to your roadtrip.<br /><br />Last October, Pedro and I were lucky to have one of our dear <a href="https://harikaszaza.blogspot.pt/search/label/Shree%20Mangal%20Dvip%20School" target="_blank">students from Nepal</a> visit us. Tsewang was studying abroad on a scholarship to finish up high school and his hosts kindly offered to send him our way for a holiday. We had a week to show him his first glimpse of an ocean, a desert, and of course, as much of Morocco as possible. We plotted our route to the Sahara through the mountains of Ifrane, the high plateau of Zaïda and the oasis of Tafilalt. <br /><br />The rain fell on the red earth of Zaïda, forming pools of pale blue sky. We spied our first houbara hiding among the clumps of thirsty vegetation, an ancient-looking bird that seemed just as surprised to see us as we were to see her.<br /></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/the-red-earth.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-8625140306913817268Sat, 12 Aug 2017 00:28:00 +00002017-08-12T01:28:39.227+01:00FèsMoroccoleaving fès<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tlZ46eLFTx8/WY5Kn-Gjd7I/AAAAAAAAbhk/tqCwVrync64IGiERH1qF5eXy02Ms4ynkACLcBGAs/s1600/fes024.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tlZ46eLFTx8/WY5Kn-Gjd7I/AAAAAAAAbhk/tqCwVrync64IGiERH1qF5eXy02Ms4ynkACLcBGAs/s1600/fes024.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-izPVgrAHSeA/WY5Ko9DPW5I/AAAAAAAAbho/Koz3HOUOc4w_wP07sxvLIopVo9c9FsDQQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes025.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-izPVgrAHSeA/WY5Ko9DPW5I/AAAAAAAAbho/Koz3HOUOc4w_wP07sxvLIopVo9c9FsDQQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes025.jpg" /></a><br /><br />And now we leave the twisted alleys and sun-bleached rooftops of Fès for the most beautiful orange. Let's run our fingers through the finest sand and watch the sun rise over the Sahara...</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/leaving-fes.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-8653471916250352151Thu, 10 Aug 2017 19:27:00 +00002017-08-10T20:27:54.739+01:00Chouara TanneryFèsmedinaMoroccomint and leather<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wcMsVeM0d3I/WYx3RGiFebI/AAAAAAAAbhA/nAk7Y1h-W58_4XCWeVHX6PHG4YQzE01iwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes017.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wcMsVeM0d3I/WYx3RGiFebI/AAAAAAAAbhA/nAk7Y1h-W58_4XCWeVHX6PHG4YQzE01iwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes017.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With a bouquet of fresh mint under my nose, I squinted my eyes at the vats of dye below, the sun reflecting off the quicklime and pigeon guano used in making soft leather out of tough hides. The scent of the guano, bovine urine, and other assorted nasties was overwhelming— even more so for the pregnant olfactory system— however, having been told how wretched it would be, I was expecting worse.<br /><br />The drying hides below are getting ready to be transformed into the traditional <i>babouche</i>, a pointed leather slipper, typically in a brilliant yellow for men. Tourists are told that all the dyes are natural— the yellow is from saffron, green from mint, red from poppies... Though I know little about leather dyes, I am sceptical of this as I have never seen mint dye anything, and saffron is quite expensive. In any case, the rainbow of colours that the tanners are able to create is gorgeous.<br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WcP0SV_Te38/WYx3RAithvI/AAAAAAAAbhE/fkeryffhhBEQ4r6dAHXFUodwToU-wTLyQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes018.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WcP0SV_Te38/WYx3RAithvI/AAAAAAAAbhE/fkeryffhhBEQ4r6dAHXFUodwToU-wTLyQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes018.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The 11th century Chouara Tannery is hidden among the clustered geometric buildings of Fès' medina, its levels of stinking vats in various shades of celadon, red and brown. The tanners who wade through the noxious pools in the blinding sun to work the hides wear anything from wellies to flip-flops on their feet, some with nothing at all. I can only imagine how hard their days are, how their muscles and heads must feel at the end of the day— it certainly gives me a deeper appreciation of the work behind my leather bags and <i>babouches</i>, which though bought in different parts of Morocco, all trace back to Fès. <br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nTc0kApe-Ho/WYx3Qw8RMCI/AAAAAAAAbg8/_ltApARD9Hori1RklIFcEqE49Rp_OE7TwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes019.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nTc0kApe-Ho/WYx3Qw8RMCI/AAAAAAAAbg8/_ltApARD9Hori1RklIFcEqE49Rp_OE7TwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes019.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xif84nFiZFs/WYx3RognnsI/AAAAAAAAbhI/N2pRHUcUkks5vsW5JDgrg9X9f7TBNpfuwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes020.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Xif84nFiZFs/WYx3RognnsI/AAAAAAAAbhI/N2pRHUcUkks5vsW5JDgrg9X9f7TBNpfuwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes020.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oANhJvwDkuI/WYx3THFIALI/AAAAAAAAbhU/Kli_rPoVosYMS09dSr6aKsluTuKxH2OPQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes023.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oANhJvwDkuI/WYx3THFIALI/AAAAAAAAbhU/Kli_rPoVosYMS09dSr6aKsluTuKxH2OPQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes023.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7eSnuz0s5lg/WYx3SFfFQ2I/AAAAAAAAbhM/iu17NadKc-Yi6RwFwsjYlueQcvi9j-7RACLcBGAs/s1600/fes021.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7eSnuz0s5lg/WYx3SFfFQ2I/AAAAAAAAbhM/iu17NadKc-Yi6RwFwsjYlueQcvi9j-7RACLcBGAs/s1600/fes021.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U9g0Zu1kxUM/WYx3Sv5nc2I/AAAAAAAAbhQ/uYNAsCew_SM7RNU-6bdIpNGNbbkPKqtUQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes022.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U9g0Zu1kxUM/WYx3Sv5nc2I/AAAAAAAAbhQ/uYNAsCew_SM7RNU-6bdIpNGNbbkPKqtUQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes022.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/mint-and-leather.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-8507360450513147005Wed, 02 Aug 2017 05:17:00 +00002017-08-02T06:17:34.257+01:00FèsmedinaMoroccothreads<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oIqhHb10xjk/WYFaZV99vBI/AAAAAAAAbgI/y-4DF960KschymEzHlLwaCcmeVeMY8zxQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes016.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oIqhHb10xjk/WYFaZV99vBI/AAAAAAAAbgI/y-4DF960KschymEzHlLwaCcmeVeMY8zxQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes016.jpg" /></a><br /><br />While wandering the alleys of Fès' medina, I began to notice nails wrapped in coloured thread jutting out from the old stone walls— some nails entirely cocooned into soft balls. I remembered climbing the hill to an orthodox church on Büyükada shortly after Easter once, where the devout had tied threads from the top to the bottom of the hill in prayer, wishing for the things we often wish for— good health, fortune, love... My mind then travelled to the Fates, weaving our lives into a vast tapestry, then to the many knotted bracelets my students in Nepal tied around my wrists.<br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d-CuVmrGVLA/WYFabsWZS_I/AAAAAAAAbgM/d88DJppc8Q8v9Jw2OBJjaBRTsxuy76nUwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes015.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-d-CuVmrGVLA/WYFabsWZS_I/AAAAAAAAbgM/d88DJppc8Q8v9Jw2OBJjaBRTsxuy76nUwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes015.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Though I suspected the reason for these pretty bursts of colour was more banal, I still hoped to find something special at the end of the threads that extended beyond their cocoons. Stretched across buildings and down the alleys, a multitude of colours were being twisted into threads which were wound around spools by quick and elegant fingers. <br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YFBof3jJ-Ro/WYFadDJORbI/AAAAAAAAbgQ/vQC6F8260NMqSwqPr8J6sJUa5RnyOPR8ACLcBGAs/s1600/fes014.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YFBof3jJ-Ro/WYFadDJORbI/AAAAAAAAbgQ/vQC6F8260NMqSwqPr8J6sJUa5RnyOPR8ACLcBGAs/s1600/fes014.jpg" /></a><br /><br />To think of what these threads would someday make— someone's favourite scarf, or the embroidery on a well-worn <i>djellaba</i>— a gift of a blanket, to be wrapped around a loved one...</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/08/threads.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-6528611867609694833Tue, 25 Jul 2017 14:32:00 +00002017-07-25T15:32:22.016+01:00doorsFèsMoroccodeclarations of love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35SEuv6yxwU/WXdVH5Gt5aI/AAAAAAAAbfU/6qLDhmFpp6IBrRP4_I06OAwpNgFBHD-7gCLcBGAs/s1600/fes011.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35SEuv6yxwU/WXdVH5Gt5aI/AAAAAAAAbfU/6qLDhmFpp6IBrRP4_I06OAwpNgFBHD-7gCLcBGAs/s1600/fes011.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WfsSr_2FQqY/WXdVIFeZxeI/AAAAAAAAbfc/kDOTmjRO7VobIgH5fhCXzx0s-hXZGuIdgCLcBGAs/s1600/fes012.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-WfsSr_2FQqY/WXdVIFeZxeI/AAAAAAAAbfc/kDOTmjRO7VobIgH5fhCXzx0s-hXZGuIdgCLcBGAs/s1600/fes012.jpg" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tYf9CQXuUDY/WXdVHxOJPgI/AAAAAAAAbfY/Wl0kxS8E-w8Rz40cGPJUDXJdozZJIWGWQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes013.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tYf9CQXuUDY/WXdVHxOJPgI/AAAAAAAAbfY/Wl0kxS8E-w8Rz40cGPJUDXJdozZJIWGWQCLcBGAs/s1600/fes013.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I often wonder about the outcome of these declarations of love on walls, doors, and trees. I imagine one of the two scrawling or carving away in secret, unveiling their feelings to the other, hoping for approval... Were they impressed by this act of vandalism? Did they shy away in embarrassment? </div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/07/declarations-of-love.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-2808237485920770600Tue, 18 Jul 2017 20:48:00 +00002017-07-18T21:48:46.464+01:00architectureFèsMoroccothe yellows of fès<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b4uQehJsi4w/WW5e1ZISViI/AAAAAAAAbeQ/7YGuvEwHLRMEibGDUov3hDX7OJopPGsyACLcBGAs/s1600/fes006.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-b4uQehJsi4w/WW5e1ZISViI/AAAAAAAAbeQ/7YGuvEwHLRMEibGDUov3hDX7OJopPGsyACLcBGAs/s1600/fes006.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Somehow I thought lugging my eighth month swollen belly around a medieval city under the bright North African sun was something that I would enjoy— and I did, mostly. I say mostly because after a morning of sightseeing my feet and ankles had swollen to an uncomfortable degree, and the heat had me nearly seeing stars. We had been saving the large, popular tourist cities like Fès and Marrakech for when we had visitors, and with Pedro's family in town at the time, Fès became our first stop.<br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wK0exZ_cLdU/WW5e1iF-i0I/AAAAAAAAbeY/WjpZ2QAEs9IGyHKgiPCGbhEDT4NooXewwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes007.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wK0exZ_cLdU/WW5e1iF-i0I/AAAAAAAAbeY/WjpZ2QAEs9IGyHKgiPCGbhEDT4NooXewwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes007.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Apparently the <i>medina</i> of Fès is the largest pedestrianized urban area in the world. I had been warned that you can lose yourself in its labyrinthine alleys without a guide, but to be honest, we had a guide for a morning and I not only found him to be a bore, I thought a good map would do just fine. Fès is one of Morocco's four imperial cities (the other three being Meknès, Rabat, and Marrakech), and served as the country's capital from the 9th Century until 1912, when it was Rabat's turn.<br /><br />Part of me dreaded going to Fès— I expected a noisy, smelly tourist trap where I'd be hassled at every turn, but I was happy to find stunning architecture, nice people, and so many shades of yellow. Yes, the amount of tourists clogged some of the smaller alleys to a standstill, but it was April. Perhaps a return in November would be a quieter (and cooler) experience— the next time however, will be with Baby being carried on the outside of me! <br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pbzp-bm_tdg/WW5e1nbMVRI/AAAAAAAAbeU/5Bqousy9OJACtpYY0JMq_psN4H3hZ_zqACLcBGAs/s1600/fes008.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Pbzp-bm_tdg/WW5e1nbMVRI/AAAAAAAAbeU/5Bqousy9OJACtpYY0JMq_psN4H3hZ_zqACLcBGAs/s1600/fes008.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2L1KpNthmvs/WW5e2bX65yI/AAAAAAAAbec/wGrCNdYzWHc31h18obWwJLENmaRwjOQtwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes009.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2L1KpNthmvs/WW5e2bX65yI/AAAAAAAAbec/wGrCNdYzWHc31h18obWwJLENmaRwjOQtwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes009.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xZHFrysphIo/WW5e2bsMRdI/AAAAAAAAbeg/jFjq-yPXm0w8_JakG5eD1zitm8kfflnIwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes010.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xZHFrysphIo/WW5e2bsMRdI/AAAAAAAAbeg/jFjq-yPXm0w8_JakG5eD1zitm8kfflnIwCLcBGAs/s1600/fes010.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/07/the-yellows-of-fes.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-5228251433584898682Tue, 11 Jul 2017 23:13:00 +00002017-07-18T21:02:16.769+01:00FèsMoroccoback into the belly<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JFBjqdwL5fI/WWP817zgYhI/AAAAAAAAbds/HgtPkPg1M6g--iox_ySrAmuKWZwIEjRKgCLcBGAs/s1600/fes003.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-JFBjqdwL5fI/WWP817zgYhI/AAAAAAAAbds/HgtPkPg1M6g--iox_ySrAmuKWZwIEjRKgCLcBGAs/s1600/fes003.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The first month of motherhood has been a surreal blur of dirty diapers, tears, sleepless nights, and the wonder of having a little one that was once poking around in your belly staring up at you with big, curious eyes. I doubt I'll find much time to blog in the next while, but as I have a moment right now (and don't need to eat, shower, go to the bathroom, or sleep), I thought I'd take you back to a time when Baby was eight months inside me, and the three of us were wandering around in a sweltering Fes. So, if you are ready and patient, I've got some things to show you!<br /><br /></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/07/back-into-belly.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-4796956381089532675Fri, 16 Jun 2017 18:13:00 +00002017-06-16T19:13:55.277+01:00between naps and nappy changes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M0Hf1O2ET48/WUQbi-T7zyI/AAAAAAAAbaY/UOOvAxBamuI6Mu5g4il-qynEv6puUAMrQCLcBGAs/s1600/tibibt-mama01.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M0Hf1O2ET48/WUQbi-T7zyI/AAAAAAAAbaY/UOOvAxBamuI6Mu5g4il-qynEv6puUAMrQCLcBGAs/s1600/tibibt-mama01.jpg" /></a><br /><br />So this has been my little secret for the past nine months. I was torn between writing about my pregnancy and keeping it for myself, and though I was thrilled to be growing this tiny human in my belly, I decided to revel in it privately. I was lucky to have had an easy and joyful pregnancy, all the way up until the last couple of weeks (which were admittedly much tougher on the body). It didn't stop Pedro and I from travelling across Morocco— eating seafood in Tangier, birding in the Western Sahara, sketching palm trees in Figuig, riding camels in Merzouga, and visiting the tanneries in Fes.<br /><br />I still intend to keep posting about my adventures (and eventually some of the drawings I've been working on), but it will now have to happen between naps and nappy changes. There's still so much to share...<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ztGG2f45euo/WUQbi4vR5UI/AAAAAAAAbac/0xeQmSuny08O5SVmrprc0zmZNK7BvY3ygCLcBGAs/s1600/tibibt-mama02.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ztGG2f45euo/WUQbi4vR5UI/AAAAAAAAbac/0xeQmSuny08O5SVmrprc0zmZNK7BvY3ygCLcBGAs/s1600/tibibt-mama02.jpg" /></a><br /><br />A heartfelt thank you for all the kind words and well wishes!</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/06/between-naps-and-nappy-changes.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-7210489490007043576Wed, 14 Jun 2017 16:20:00 +00002017-06-14T17:20:50.379+01:00becoming three<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HRq3N1dkf8g/WUFhiItQLpI/AAAAAAAAbZw/Cq6lAx0HH4MRnKrkIZXNt6unrw8gLpE8wCLcBGAs/s1600/three-hands-sm.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HRq3N1dkf8g/WUFhiItQLpI/AAAAAAAAbZw/Cq6lAx0HH4MRnKrkIZXNt6unrw8gLpE8wCLcBGAs/s1600/three-hands-sm.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I have a new name: Mama.</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/06/becoming-three.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-376823912582525610Thu, 01 Jun 2017 10:17:00 +00002017-06-01T11:17:42.734+01:00ImlilMoroccomulesthe humble mule<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zG4ILXlOYsU/WS_nNzNB6kI/AAAAAAAAbYs/Zf9iiNE_vpsa4xEyEZfJTxUGOahJ8xd4gCLcB/s1600/imlil019.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zG4ILXlOYsU/WS_nNzNB6kI/AAAAAAAAbYs/Zf9iiNE_vpsa4xEyEZfJTxUGOahJ8xd4gCLcB/s1600/imlil019.jpg" /></a><br /><br />With the steep and rocky terrain, mules are the preferred form of transport in and around Imlil, and goats the chosen livestock. Some of the mules were decked out in colourful harnesses and striped blankets, while others were a bit less flashy— all seemed well looked after and healthy, which made me happy.<br /><br /><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wMmZCRGM4QA/WS_nU2RRDhI/AAAAAAAAbYw/eT-8narQRqUEaRT7Kgd6ZJzdp43tq1fiwCLcB/s1600/imlil022.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wMmZCRGM4QA/WS_nU2RRDhI/AAAAAAAAbYw/eT-8narQRqUEaRT7Kgd6ZJzdp43tq1fiwCLcB/s1600/imlil022.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exlk1phQDR8/WS_mYPaFJ9I/AAAAAAAAbYg/Aah0EEisKF4Qjf_MYScM3JlgIYMW4rmcQCLcB/s1600/imlil020.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exlk1phQDR8/WS_mYPaFJ9I/AAAAAAAAbYg/Aah0EEisKF4Qjf_MYScM3JlgIYMW4rmcQCLcB/s1600/imlil020.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VpTWcceTAnQ/WS_mX-r2RjI/AAAAAAAAbYc/V2V1Bw0lCZI0tVP8fn6UkCpJKmpqnYtBACLcB/s1600/imlil021.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VpTWcceTAnQ/WS_mX-r2RjI/AAAAAAAAbYc/V2V1Bw0lCZI0tVP8fn6UkCpJKmpqnYtBACLcB/s1600/imlil021.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/06/the-humble-mule.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-5507610361148840967Mon, 29 May 2017 19:09:00 +00002017-05-29T20:09:16.475+01:00Jabal Toubkal National ParkMoroccoOukaïmedenrock etchingsetched into stone<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wJzKO_2SCPA/WSxq1pTGFqI/AAAAAAAAbXc/xZWJfX-yzXsV0ZueB_xpqpxmdSHwWdVoQCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal001.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wJzKO_2SCPA/WSxq1pTGFqI/AAAAAAAAbXc/xZWJfX-yzXsV0ZueB_xpqpxmdSHwWdVoQCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal001.jpg" /></a><br /><br />On the way to Oukaïmeden in Jabal Toubkal National Park, there's a fairly large rocky area surrounded by grazing pastures that has some curious etchings. The sign at the site claims that the etchings were created 2000–3000 years ago by the original inhabitants of the area. As the etchings are not marked with any sort of roping or protection, you have to resort to walking on the rocks to find them. We were able to find a female figure, a make with a bull, another bull, and a shield of sorts with a bird. <br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dyfafi2IWEc/WSxruHhK-pI/AAAAAAAAbXo/qKb3xoQKmZc4k8ckHdtWkk6wPGOBPbk0ACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal002.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dyfafi2IWEc/WSxruHhK-pI/AAAAAAAAbXo/qKb3xoQKmZc4k8ckHdtWkk6wPGOBPbk0ACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal002.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KAt5Z45BgiA/WSxryIF6XNI/AAAAAAAAbXw/1d8US5eX1TkvphKcsl0BsKZg9AkOC0agACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal005.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KAt5Z45BgiA/WSxryIF6XNI/AAAAAAAAbXw/1d8US5eX1TkvphKcsl0BsKZg9AkOC0agACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal005.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HnCMaoIdx6o/WSxxnqBRERI/AAAAAAAAbYM/ftXI243JqdE0iJ1-gigtt8KtZDe8_mlMQCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal008.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HnCMaoIdx6o/WSxxnqBRERI/AAAAAAAAbYM/ftXI243JqdE0iJ1-gigtt8KtZDe8_mlMQCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal008.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Erosion from snow, wind and water also left some interesting marks of its own:<br /><br /><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t8wqK1GUKTs/WSxryEZHxNI/AAAAAAAAbX0/VssUSRmZtyQAQtFbimjnllJSkatmeYsXACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal003.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-t8wqK1GUKTs/WSxryEZHxNI/AAAAAAAAbX0/VssUSRmZtyQAQtFbimjnllJSkatmeYsXACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal003.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aSo6aAOkbYw/WSxrxwVC8QI/AAAAAAAAbXs/JkiHEtA6iDkvLxfQrDnCdFbI_zLzS4RKwCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal004.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aSo6aAOkbYw/WSxrxwVC8QI/AAAAAAAAbXs/JkiHEtA6iDkvLxfQrDnCdFbI_zLzS4RKwCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal004.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iGMVoaYiNEI/WSxryr3v62I/AAAAAAAAbX8/7p-z5xqtg1YKpzvQrgLugyGI9TVavQPXwCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal006.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iGMVoaYiNEI/WSxryr3v62I/AAAAAAAAbX8/7p-z5xqtg1YKpzvQrgLugyGI9TVavQPXwCLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal006.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b4ky4j3uz0c/WSxryuQ20GI/AAAAAAAAbX4/OJatVso3ae8zbVKuVKFkvm2NCxFPOdroACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal007.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-b4ky4j3uz0c/WSxryuQ20GI/AAAAAAAAbX4/OJatVso3ae8zbVKuVKFkvm2NCxFPOdroACLcB/s1600/jabaltoubkal007.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/05/etched-into-stone.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-1821809884847657062Sun, 28 May 2017 14:11:00 +00002017-05-28T15:11:19.752+01:00food and drinkImlilMoroccotajine and tea<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HlC2SlJukBM/WSrCX9zPHiI/AAAAAAAAbXM/9FE4knuSLksuTtTMai4ntFLALs7IT0DnwCLcB/s1600/imlil014.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HlC2SlJukBM/WSrCX9zPHiI/AAAAAAAAbXM/9FE4knuSLksuTtTMai4ntFLALs7IT0DnwCLcB/s1600/imlil014.jpg" /></a><br /><br />As we wandered around Imlil in search of food, we were confronted with two options at that particular time of day: a touristy restaurant with a bunch of excited Europeans, or a local joint that seemed to be attached to a butcher shop. The latter had an enticing row of steaming <i>tajine</i> pots cooking their contents away on braziers, and a fair amount of locals dining away. Needless to say, we greeted the friendly gent manning the coals, and climbed upstairs to the terrace where we ordered a chicken <i>tajine</i> to share, mint tea, and a Coke for Pedro.<br /><br />Chicken <i>tajines</i> from what I have experienced so far, are mainly composed of various chicken parts layered underneath a pile of potatoes and various vegetables, flavoured with preserved salted lemons and olives. The acid from the lemons is cut by the earthy potatoes, and overall, it's a pretty nice dish (though I prefer the meatball tajines). There's usually a good amount of drippings left behind for your bread to soak up— my favourite part.<br /><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oydoxh-6XCY/WSrA8v77AOI/AAAAAAAAbW8/6bkIRxDEwMAVNP_OVPirKUTNQGANtDNzgCLcB/s1600/imlil016.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oydoxh-6XCY/WSrA8v77AOI/AAAAAAAAbW8/6bkIRxDEwMAVNP_OVPirKUTNQGANtDNzgCLcB/s1600/imlil016.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LelbKBjtmwo/WSrBHftJz7I/AAAAAAAAbXA/fZKpU95MLmgl8rLKP6EWEFEnMwOg3sh5QCLcB/s1600/imlil015.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LelbKBjtmwo/WSrBHftJz7I/AAAAAAAAbXA/fZKpU95MLmgl8rLKP6EWEFEnMwOg3sh5QCLcB/s1600/imlil015.jpg" /></a><br /><br />I had to include this last photo— I love the way Coca-Cola is written in Arabic!</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/05/tajine-and-tea.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-3383079797286049489Sat, 27 May 2017 22:56:00 +00002017-05-27T23:56:19.675+01:00High Atlas MountainsImlilMoroccovillagesstone villages<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BiDoGFmKq7I/WSn_nZi2MvI/AAAAAAAAbWc/nl7SNK3lOEkLo7KuJQNYI3RX-jJ6SARyQCLcB/s1600/imlil009.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BiDoGFmKq7I/WSn_nZi2MvI/AAAAAAAAbWc/nl7SNK3lOEkLo7KuJQNYI3RX-jJ6SARyQCLcB/s1600/imlil009.jpg" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hl3WMuAacpM/WSn_nusAOVI/AAAAAAAAbWg/8S3LcqVn4qUddhCWKomXkoeCSkpXBNUaQCLcB/s1600/imlil010.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Hl3WMuAacpM/WSn_nusAOVI/AAAAAAAAbWg/8S3LcqVn4qUddhCWKomXkoeCSkpXBNUaQCLcB/s1600/imlil010.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e-UnF7rmMC0/WSn_nq54ieI/AAAAAAAAbWk/aDTrppvWm9owKLe2A2BStr5GGZRFxaQSgCLcB/s1600/imlil011.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e-UnF7rmMC0/WSn_nq54ieI/AAAAAAAAbWk/aDTrppvWm9owKLe2A2BStr5GGZRFxaQSgCLcB/s1600/imlil011.jpg" /></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qqEm3B9p08k/WSn_oujTuCI/AAAAAAAAbWs/H_ji4KpnfzAp8_73CYvteIRcT-XOR5_NgCLcB/s1600/imlil013.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qqEm3B9p08k/WSn_oujTuCI/AAAAAAAAbWs/H_ji4KpnfzAp8_73CYvteIRcT-XOR5_NgCLcB/s1600/imlil013.jpg" /></a><br /><br />The stone villages we hiked through around Imlil reminded me of some of the Nepali villages I've seen. Humble rectangles, earthen-coloured, with bits of pink, blue, and red from clothes drying on a line. Goats braying, shy eyes peering behind windows, some shuttered, some barred.<br /><br /><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLTwjEbYFkI/WSn_oFNmWrI/AAAAAAAAbWo/wK5kp8EoDwsTGHPKn1kRCDp7h1Up0NgQQCLcB/s1600/imlil012.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZLTwjEbYFkI/WSn_oFNmWrI/AAAAAAAAbWo/wK5kp8EoDwsTGHPKn1kRCDp7h1Up0NgQQCLcB/s1600/imlil012.jpg" /></a><br /><br />As in Nepal, it seems as though cement is quickly replacing stone and wood.</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/05/stone-villages.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-5982304550127490296Sat, 27 May 2017 20:56:00 +00002017-05-27T21:56:37.349+01:00High Atlas MountainsImlilMoroccotaking a hike<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r17_L6FgHvA/WSnnk6cby9I/AAAAAAAAbWA/ocjQSdB868w-yD4xS8oXAuOgQ1Zm4vBdwCLcB/s1600/imlil006.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r17_L6FgHvA/WSnnk6cby9I/AAAAAAAAbWA/ocjQSdB868w-yD4xS8oXAuOgQ1Zm4vBdwCLcB/s1600/imlil006.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5VP5Gh7ifC8/WSnnrVOSUcI/AAAAAAAAbWI/9xsmA9oBilAxN8IbjtPVFuoeY4qymEWjgCLcB/s1600/imlil005.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5VP5Gh7ifC8/WSnnrVOSUcI/AAAAAAAAbWI/9xsmA9oBilAxN8IbjtPVFuoeY4qymEWjgCLcB/s1600/imlil005.jpg" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tx5qtIJ92Uc/WSnnubLx11I/AAAAAAAAbWM/wYVSRnJaELglzPqDlhMJ3utuLnR70F-AgCLcB/s1600/imlil007.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="600" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Tx5qtIJ92Uc/WSnnubLx11I/AAAAAAAAbWM/wYVSRnJaELglzPqDlhMJ3utuLnR70F-AgCLcB/s1600/imlil007.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/05/taking-hike.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-3673536068188734854Wed, 24 May 2017 21:53:00 +00002017-05-24T22:53:56.718+01:00High Atlas MountainsImlilMoroccointo the atlas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WII4GtHjMTU/WSX9i1vQcfI/AAAAAAAAbVw/AJERusjoTdo-FD5RD34JeHvUOc50FxuggCLcB/s1600/imlil004.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WII4GtHjMTU/WSX9i1vQcfI/AAAAAAAAbVw/AJERusjoTdo-FD5RD34JeHvUOc50FxuggCLcB/s1600/imlil004.jpg" /></a><br /><br />Back in September, Pedro and I took advantage of a long weekend for a roadtrip into the Atlas Mountains. The green valleys of the imposing Atlas were dotted with Berber villages made of stone and mud, the same red as the surrounding rocks, which almost served to camouflage the humble, rectangular buildings. The air was fresh, and the valleys echoed with the calls of choughs. Light faded quickly, as the sun sank behind the mountains in the late afternoon, casting a faint orange glow before we were all immersed in blues and violets.</div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/05/into-atlas.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5247858193952376831.post-7970021692279188184Wed, 24 May 2017 18:00:00 +00002017-05-24T19:00:45.545+01:00architecturedoorsMoroccoTangierit's in the details<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DSI3AjN1uvQ/WSWpi5Tk9NI/AAAAAAAAbVU/inVW61OXGzQ2dCS7nXXHWAW_I1Dp_AvpgCLcB/s1600/tangier028.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-DSI3AjN1uvQ/WSWpi5Tk9NI/AAAAAAAAbVU/inVW61OXGzQ2dCS7nXXHWAW_I1Dp_AvpgCLcB/s1600/tangier028.jpg" /></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zJRtzn9bbgQ/WSWpnjk_orI/AAAAAAAAbVY/27dvnjxAziMko1CfHaQ6IGJIOP7L6YNJQCLcB/s1600/tangier026.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zJRtzn9bbgQ/WSWpnjk_orI/AAAAAAAAbVY/27dvnjxAziMko1CfHaQ6IGJIOP7L6YNJQCLcB/s1600/tangier026.jpg" /></a><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iLGFk7G5rFc/WSWpqEOBXMI/AAAAAAAAbVc/KzTcVCzOMwUo1cMIwkbrdxi7SjnF_EHEwCLcB/s1600/tangier029.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-iLGFk7G5rFc/WSWpqEOBXMI/AAAAAAAAbVc/KzTcVCzOMwUo1cMIwkbrdxi7SjnF_EHEwCLcB/s1600/tangier029.jpg" /></a></div>http://harikaszaza.blogspot.com/2017/05/its-in-details.htmlnoreply@blogger.com (szaza)0